


Anyways

by bethylark



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, everlark fic exchange
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 15:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6334009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethylark/pseuds/bethylark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Everlark Fic Exchange on tumblr. From the prompt: "We all know Katniss is not good with words. What if, in the middle of a flashback, all of Peeta’s old insecurities about Katniss and Gale resurface and the only way to snap him out of it is for Katniss to convince him he was always her dandelion in the spring, that she did not just settle for him and is still secretly pining after Gale? [submitted by Anonymous]"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anyways

I wake to sound of birds chirping in the trees outside, the early morning sun shining through the open bedroom window. I register something heavy lying on my chest, and memories of the night come back to me.

Peeta never usually thrashes around or screams out during a nightmare, but in the middle of the night, he had suddenly sat straight up, hands fisted in his hair. Luckily, I was in a light enough sleep to notice the sudden absence of the warmth next me.

I was immediately at his side, whispering encouragements to him, rubbing his shoulders, kissing his hair, his cheek, his forehead, until he finally stopped trying to pull his beautiful hair out. I cradled his head against my chest.

“Not real, Peeta,” I soothed. “You’re safe. You’re here with me. We’re home. We’re safe.”

I felt his arms wrap around me, his heavy breathing only softening a little. I started to gently move my fingers tucking the hair behind his ear, over and over again, in a soothing gesture I remember my father doing sometimes while he would sing me to sleep. After a while, we lay back down against the pillows, Peeta’s head still resting on my chest as I hummed softly an old song about singing songbirds. I must’ve fallen asleep soon after that, because it is in this position that I find us now in the gentle light of dawn.

Judging by his breathing, Peeta is still asleep. Good. He’s been so exhausted for so long, he deserves some peace, and I have no desire to disturb that. As the sun rises higher, the pleasant tweeting of the birds in the trees turns into honking and swearing coming from the direction of Haymitch’s house. I don’t understand how such annoying creatures coexist at the hand of such an annoying man.

I look down at Peeta’s head on my chest, lightly tracing the features of his face with the tips of my fingers. I’m just brushing a finger over his eyelashes when he finally stirs and I freeze, caught.

He peaks up at me and smirks, “Having fun?”

I blush a little but smile back, tucking my fingers behind his ear once more before resting my hand on the back of his neck. After a moment, I ask him, “Feeling better this morning?”

His face sobers up a bit, and he lifts himself up on his elbows before nodding. He turns over, lying flat on his back to stretch, and I sit up against the headboard, cuddling into the pillows there.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask after several minutes of silence. No matter how painful it can be, talking through his flashbacks is the best way to sort out real from not real, and comfort him through the things that are unfortunately real.

He stares up at the ceiling for a bit before answering me. “Not right now,” he says. I sigh and look down, toying with a loose string on the pillowcase. He must sense my disappointment, because he adds, “at some point, but not today.”

I can only nod. I don’t want to push him.

After a while longer of laying around, cuddling, stretching, and yawning, we make our way downstairs. Peeta starts on some honey buns as I fry some eggs and links of sausage from a deer I took down last week. It’s a pleasant spring day, nearly summer. Peeta’s been home with me for a little over a year now, and it’s been nearly five months since I moved into his house. We still go to my old victor’s mansion sometimes, but the hallways are filled with whispers from my dead sister, and the putrid stench of white roses still faint on the furniture in the study. After so many anxiety attacks in the front hallway, we decided it was best for me to move across the street.

It smells much better here. Always some sort of pastry or stew or anything in between provides us with a warm aroma that truly makes me feel like I’m _home._ The cute blond always trying to fatten me up in the kitchen might have something to do with that, as well.

Buttercup hops up on the counter next to me as I dry the grease from the pans, hoping to get some treats from me. That damn cat is getting too fat. Somehow he’s weaseled his way into my heart so much that when he looks up at me like this, I usually give in and spoil him, but today I’m determined not to. I don’t know how to deal with a diabetic cat, so he’ll just have to suffer through a little less luxury sometimes.

As I wash the pan in the sink, disposing of the scraps in the waste basket hidden under the sink to keep the cat from getting to them, he realizes I’m not going to let up, and immediately slithers on over to Peeta. He meows and rubs against his ankles, trying to suck up to him. Peeta looks over and is about to drop a piece of toast for him when I whip around, hands wet and soapy, and grip his arm before he can pass on the kitty contraband. He looks up at me, surprised and amused, while buttercup whines from below, probably telling me I’m ruining his life in cat language.

“We have to stop feeding him so much junk. I will not contribute further to cat obesity,” I explain. Peeta pops the piece of toast still in his hand into his own mouth, still smirking at me. I stare back, trying to scowl as if to make sure he obeys.

We sit and eat in comfortable quiet, occasionally breaking it to talk about different things we’d like to do this week. I turned 19 a few weeks ago, and it’s nearly summer, now. I tell Peeta I want to take him out to the lake some day this week. He looks up and smiles at me then, and I feel that fluttering in my chest and down my abdomen that I’ve only recently begun to understand. _Attraction_ , Johanna had told me. _You’re attracted to him, brainless._

Peeta and I have had sex exactly three times now. I’d like to increase that number, but after the first time back when I had moved in, Peeta explained he didn’t want to rush into things. At first I was irritated, I mean, hadn’t we been through enough together that our relationship was beyond taking slow steps? But with the fragile state of both of our minds, it probably is best to put our main focus on living _normally_. Whatever that means.

My mother had given me a very awkward, clinical, sex talk when I was fourteen and started having the monthly cycle associated with childbearing. I knew, scientifically speaking, where everything was supposed to go and when and how, but back then it hadn’t occurred to me how those things connected with what I’d be _feeling_ in the moment. It was a bit overwhelming.

I had expected it to be painful, truthfully. My mother told me that was common. I was sure it would hurt when I saw the _size_ of that thing, but it didn’t, not really. It was strange, sore a little bit, but mostly it felt good. Johanna says it’s because Peeta had properly “warmed me up” first. Apparently most guys weren’t that thoughtful. Actually I was kind of embarrassed; I was nearly begging by the time Peeta finally thrust into me. I haven’t told Johanna that part, but I think she knows. Everyone else seems to have an easier time seeing through me than I do myself.

As I look over him now, his blond hair shining golden in the sunlight, I suddenly feel a little hot. _It’s not that hot outside, yet, is it?_ Abruptly, I stand up, opening the windows throughout the kitchen and the living room, letting the breeze blow through the house. There, that’s better.

Peeta and I clean up the table and then lounge in the living room. I’m carving arrows by the dormant fireplace while Peeta sits on the couch, sketching something. When I finish, I walk over and curl up next to him and rest my head on his shoulder. Before I can catch a glimpse of what he’s drawing, though, he slams the sketchbook shut and tosses it onto the end table.

I try to reach over and grab it, my curiosity getting the best of me, but this time it’s Peeta’s hand that snaps up and stops my wrist. I try again with my other arm, but he grabs that one too, and then I’m struggling and stumbling onto the floor. Peeta moves to hold both my wrists in one of his hands while reaching for the book with the other, trying to put it further out of my reach, and I use this moment to flip him underneath me on the floor.

For a brief second, I sit above him, letting out a breath of triumph, before I’m swept up and suddenly I’m the one on the floor, Peeta pinning me down so firmly I can hardly move any of my limbs an inch.

“Do not try to challenge me at wrestling, Everdeen,” he warns me with a smirk. It’s so adorable that I momentarily forget how we got in this position and why I’m struggling. I’m moving up to kiss him when he shocks me again, moving his abdomen away from me while still keeping my arms and legs firmly in place.

I make a whining noise in my throat that would probably be embarrassing if it were anyone else hearing it but Peeta, and he laughs at me.

“No cheating,” he tells me as I pathetically try again to kiss him. “There’s no kissing in wrestling,” he declares.

“But it’s more fun that way,” I whine some more, trying and failing yet again to reach his face.

Just then there’s a steady knock at the door, and when he looks up, his grip loosens just enough that I’m able to move up, an inch from his lips when he catches me and holds me down again. I’m beginning to feel breathless.

“Just ignore it,” I plead, trying now to bring my waist up against his. The teasing look he gives me should give him away, but still I fall for it when he finally leans down to kiss me, just long enough for me to sigh. Then he leaps up to go answer the door before I can understand what just happened. Damn it, it’s feeling stuffy in here again.

I take a few moments to collect myself before I get up to see who it is. As I’m walking down the hall, I hear a man’s voice on the other side while Peeta stands with the door partly open so that I can’t see who it is.

“Do you know where Katniss is?” a familiar voice asks. I’m just reaching Peeta, wrapping my arms around him from behind to slip my hands into his front pockets and look over his shoulder when I place its identity. “There was no answer at her house…” he trails off as he see me.

“Gale,” I say quietly. It’s not a friendly greeting, or anything pleasant like that. I sound completely monotone when I say his name. He looks back at me with a heavy expression on his face. Embarrassment? Envy? Discomfort? Maybe a combination of all three.

He’s about to speak again, hopefully providing a reason why he’s shown up here unannounced, interrupting a rare, blissful morning, when I notice that Peeta has gone rigid. His eyes are clamped shut, his hand gripping the door so hard his knuckles have turned white.

Suddenly nothing else in the world exists. I move in front of him and hold his face in my hands.

“Not real, Peeta,” I tell him. “Whatever you’re seeing it’s not real.” I manage to move him back a bit and he sits down against the bottom of the stairs, fists clenched and eyes clamped shut. I move in between his legs and kneel in front of him, stroking his cheeks, his hair, his shoulders.

“You’re safe, Peeta. You’re here with me. You’re home. We’re home,” I say as I try to loosen his hands before he breaks skin. I finally manage to grab both his hands in mind and hold them to my chest as I continue to comfort him.

Finally, his eyes open. His pupils are huge as looks back at me before focusing on something over my shoulder, narrowing his eyes. I turn to see what it is only to find Gale standing there on our porch, awkwardly facing sideways, pretending to be occupied with something on his communication tablet device. Whatever he came here to say must be really important for him to not only show up in District 12 after all this time, but to wait there awkwardly while I comfort the boy he was competing against for my affections.

“It is real, though,” Peeta says through clenched teeth, staring at Gale’s figure with resentment and something else, too… doubt?

I stand up and march over to the door, clearing my throat. Gale looks up from his device, eyes darting back and forth between Peeta and me. It’s only then that I realize all I’m wearing is a flannel nightgown… and nothing else. I cross my arms to try to preserve some modesty.

Before he can say anything, I start talking with as much confidence as I can. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to excuse us. I don’t live across the street anymore,” I say, telling myself to ignore any hurt I see in his eyes. “I’m otherwise occupied at the moment, but if you’ll be here a while you can go visit elsewhere until I send someone for you when we are ready.”

I sound so diplomatic. I feel a bit of sadness that this is how I am talking to my best friend now. _No._ Not my best friend anymore. My hands are becoming clammy as I stare back at him; all I can see is the fiery hatred that destroyed my sister. Before it gets out of hand, I shut the door and go back to Peeta.

He looks deep in thought, angry, but also nervous. Does he think I asked Gale to come?

“I don’t know why he’s here, Peeta,” I say. “I didn’t really expect to ever see him again, actually.”

I notice Peeta’s eyes aren’t solid black anymore, but his pupils are still very large. He looks at me skeptically.

“I’m telling the truth, Peeta, I promise,” I add, taking his hands in mine once more. I know looking at Gale causes some flashbacks for me, but I’m realizing those are nothing compared to what’s happening to Peeta. Why do he still look so annoyed?

“Peeta, please talk to me. What did you see that you think is real?” I plead.

He meets my gaze and the distrust I see there dissipates a little. “You. Him. You were together. Laughing at me while I went through a flashback,” he says bitterly.

“Not real, Peeta,” I assure him and squeeze his hands harder when he starts to protest. “It isn’t! I would never, _ever_ laugh at you while you’re suffering. You must know that. You know how I feel about you…” my voice starts to crack then.

He looks back at me coldly. “No, I don’t.” He sounds so certain, has he really forgotten? Was he already falling asleep when I told him it was real that I loved him? My stomach starts to drop at this.

“See, from where I’m sitting right now, it looks like you’re stuck here with me because Gale went off to some government job across the country. I know you think of me as a second choice,” he says, and there are tears in my eyes now from his harsh words.

“Peeta, no, that’s not true! You have to know that’s not true. I’m here with you because I want to be,” I tell him, feeling the desperation rise in me.

“You’d rather be somewhere else,” he says, and it almost sounds like a question. I quickly shake my head no before he continues. “If it weren’t for the games, you’d have ended up with him, never giving me a second thought.” As he says this, I can hear the doubt starting to creep in to his voice.

“No!” I tell him firmly, grabbing his face in my hands. “None of that is true, Peeta!” I’m looking at him desperately, he has to believe me.

“It was always you,” I say a little softer. He looks away from me, but I turn him back. “I mean it, Peeta. This,” I gesture between us, “would have happened anyway.”

It’s clear he’s debating whether or not to believe me now. I’ve got his attention.

I kiss him, very softly, and pull back to look at him earnestly. “In any world. No matter the circumstances, you would’ve been the one to get through to me.”

Now he’s definitely intrigued, so I continue while the words are still coming to me. “I never wanted to fall in love, Peeta. I never wanted to get married. I never wanted to be so vulnerable. I saw what losing my father did to my mother, how the depression made her blind to everything, even her own children’s misery. I couldn’t let myself become like her. I was determined to never let that happen.” I pause here, leaning my forehead against his, my eyes counting every freckle on his face as his eyes focus back on me, absorbed by my every word.

“But you snuck up on me. You somehow got through every wall I’d built up and made me love you anyway,” I tell him, poking him in the chest in frustration. “And I did become a vegetable, just like my mother, when the Capitol had you, when I returned home after everything and thought I’d lost you too. I didn’t leave that chair for weeks, Peeta,” I say, knowing he understand what I’m talking about. “Not until you came home. _You_ are the reason I’m still alive.”

I pause to take a few deep breaths, there are still tears in my eyes, but they’re not from being hurt so much as the way I’m opening up to him like this. It’s exhausting, but I know he needs to hear it.

“See, you give me hope. Despite everything, you’re so purely _good_ ; it makes me think it’s okay to smile again. That I deserve to breathe. That no matter how bad our losses, things can be good again.” He’s looking at me softly now, and I know I’ve brought him back to me as I see the love reflected in his eyes.

After a few moments of silence, I speak again. “I’ve never wanted anyone but you,” I say quietly. He looks at me questionably. “I did love Gale, Peeta. That much is real. I _did._ In the past. But I was never _in love_ with him. I never felt hungry for more of him,” I’m completely sprawled open for him now, clearly showing the effect he has on me. “You’re the one I’m in love with. The only one. You’re the one who leaves me flustered when you tease me and won’t let me kiss you in a terribly uneven wrestling match,” I say and he smiles back at me. “Okay?” I ask him, drained. I’ve never felt so raw, but at the same time… so content. He knows. He knows everything I feel for him and he’s looking back at me telling me that it’s okay, that he is thankful that I feel that way.

He kisses me then. It’s full of every emotion from today; desperation, teasing, affection, desire, and love. And when he pulls away and whispers, “you love me?” - just as he did before - I tell him, “Real.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So I hope I did your prompt justice. I might write a part two to this (dealing with whatever it is Gale came to say), but for now, here’s this. I know you wanted Katniss to actually use her words well for once, so I tried to keep it as in-character as I could. I’m bethylark here and on ao3 and ffn, so come tell me what you think! [original notes from tumblr]


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